


So Love

by amfiguree



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amfiguree/pseuds/amfiguree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orlando just smiled, pretty, pretty boy; young and pretty and headed for the dance floor, blending in with the writhing mass of bodies, so that Viggo couldn’t see him, even when he craned above the crowd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Love

_Not quite heartfelt._ That was all Viggo could think as Orlando offered him a tired smile.  
  
“Happy birthday, Vig.” Orlando’s voice was soft, velvety, at his ear, and Orlando was _soft and warm and yes_ in Viggo’s arms, pulled close in an embrace that was almost impersonal but not quite.  
  
Viggo wanted to ask something unconventional, that would probably have been scoffed at by everyone else, and Orlando’s _wet, wet lips_ curved into an expectant smile, as if he already knew what Viggo was about to say. _Soulmates are very rare. Or maybe they’re not. And we just think they are. And. Hello Orlando._  
  
But then he was dragged away, by a drunk Sean Bean, chortling bubbly about wine and wives and women. _But I wasn’t done!_  
  
Orlando just smiled, _pretty, pretty boy; young and pretty_ and headed for the dance floor, blending in with the writhing mass of bodies, so that Viggo couldn’t see him, even when he craned above the crowd.  
  
 _Orlando’s lost._  
  
“Here, Viggo!” Elijah was giggling, a cold bottle of beer held in unsteady hands as he tried to keep himself upright. “It’s your birthday, man! Let’s show them blokes real American drinking!”  
  
Viggo grinned, and took the bottle, delightedly. _Drink. Does Orlando want a drink? It’s hot. Hot, hot, hot. I want to drink. Will you drink with me, Orlando?_  
  
Then his thoughts were swallowed by the loud churn of agreement from his stomach as he tipped the wine back.  
  
  
Viggo thought he must be very drunk; _can’t see. Where’s Orlando? Still dancing? Will he dance with me?_  
  
Sean was slobbering over the table, his eyes barely open, both Dominic and Billy poking at his drooping eyelids with girlish squeals of delight, and Elijah watched them, glassy-eyed, as he slumped against the barstool. Ian hiccupped merrily in a secluded corner, drunkenly waving to young blonde passers-by, who gave him a naughty wink or two in reply, working Ian into a right mad glee.  
  
Viggo laughed now, for no apparent reason. _I’m giggling. Giggling. High-pitched. Like. Like Miranda’s. Bad. Bad giggle. Go away, please. Orlando, make the giggle go away, please._  
  
There was a pleasant buzzing when he closed his eyes, and Viggo lay his head on his arms, resting silently atop the table. _Don’t want to open my eyes. Dream. Dreaming’s good. Orlando’s there._  
  
“Orright, I think we just ‘bout had enough fun.” Peter rose, trying not to lose his balance, rousing his cast. “Time to get home to Fran, or she’ll be yelling tomorrow.”  
  
Viggo smiled, sleepily, and Peter went to hug him, tight and warm and hard and _not like Orlando_. “Bye, Vig. Happy 45th, man.”  
  
“Thanks,” Viggo muttered, grinning. _Bye, hairy Peter. Bye! Have safe sex with Fran. It’s not good to have children. No, Henry’s good. Don’t have safe sex, Peter. Don’t, don’t, don’t… where’s Orlando?_  
  
Viggo’s disjointed thoughts confused him, and he nodded, slurred, when the other members of the fellowship stood to hug him and wish him happy birthday; then suddenly they were all gone.  
  
 _Mandos. I’m in Mandos. All alone. And what’s that noise? My head hurts. No, not an elf. Not Mandos. M’not dead. Legolas?_  
  
Then Viggo felt a gentle hand slide down his skin, and he grinned. _Hello. Hello, Orlando, hello._  
  
“Happy birthday, Viggo.” And when Viggo turned around to look properly, there were dark eyebags lining Orlando’s weary face, and he looked tired. Like he’d been overused, somehow. _Flew here. For my birthday. Mine, mine, mine._  
  
“Happy birthday,” Orlando said, again, and it was softer this time; a warm smile curled his face, lighted it with a semblance of youth, and Viggo smiled back, fuzzily, and didn’t pull away when Orlando moved to taste his lips, very slowly.  
  
 _Heartfelt._ Viggo thought, giddily, running a hand down Orlando’s cheek, pulling the smiling sober man closer again, _and lip-felt and skin-felt. And heartfelt. Love?_  
  
Orlando’s eyes were melted and _oh yes please_ when Viggo looked again, his tender smile still pasted on his lips, and Viggo nodded, inebriated. _Love._


End file.
